DDD 10

Clarisa’s patience, by her own admission, was never particularly strong.

Why were there this many servants crammed into a house barely bigger than a mouse hole? Staring coldly at the crowd blocking her way, Clarisa spoke.

“Move.”

“Lady Clarisa, the young master hasn’t finished preparing yet—”

“But—”

“He’s in the middle of bathing—”

“I thought you said earlier he was changing his clothes?”

Of course she didn’t like this situation.

Every time she said a single word, replies multiplied severalfold, trailing after it like useless echoes. So many mouths, yet not a single one capable of giving a proper answer.

Irritation piled on irritation.

And when that happened—

There was only one possible outcome.

“Do the servants of House Mathias wear their tongues as accessories?”

As expected, Clarisa’s already thin patience hit rock bottom.

With a frosty expression, she swept her gaze across the servants’ faces. Watching them turn deathly pale, she advanced without slowing.

“If you would just wait a moment—”

“And judging by the noise, those accessories seem terribly annoying. If we removed them, at least the constant clinking from your tongues would stop, wouldn’t it?”

Her tone was calm, almost innocent, which only made the cruelty of her words worse. No one needed a cue—one by one, they stepped back.

Like a miracle performed by a prophet from another world, the path before Clarisa opened.

At last, her hand closed around a rusted doorknob.

At that moment, Bellisa—who had been watching Clarisa with mounting unease—stepped forward.

So this is it.

Clarisa’s lips curved upward at an angle.

Her chin lifted, her gaze fixed on Bellisa—confident, gleaming with certainty.

“My lady, please stop.”

“Why?”

Clarisa tilted her head lightly and shrugged.

Bellisa ignored the cold sweat clinging to her skin and spoke with the composed dignity of a countess.

“Even if you are engaged, it is improper for a noble young lady—especially a marquis’s daughter—to enter a man’s room so freely.”

It was a scolding befitting the elder of a household.

With a solemn face, Bellisa lectured Clarisa convincingly enough—despite the fact that she was only about ten years older than her.

Under normal circumstances, even a clueless twelve-year-old noble girl would have understood the implication.

But there was one thing Bellisa had overlooked.

“We’ll be sharing a room eventually anyway.”

Clarisa had no decency.

A sharp grit escaped Bellisa’s clenched teeth, her neck flushing red. Seeing the idiots behind her nod in agreement only made her feel even more sick.

“…I appreciate your fondness for Aryan,” Bellisa said, nearly biting her tongue as she forced the words out.

It took her quite some time to mold her red, beautiful lips into a passable smile.

“But that is a matter for the future.”

Her words weren’t wrong.

Clarisa, after all, was notoriously fickle. Proof of that sat plainly on Bellisa’s desk—a freshly delivered letter of broken engagement that had arrived that very morning.

Yet no matter what Bellisa said, Clarisa’s eyes widened and she smiled brightly.

“So what? Tomorrow or today.”

Then, feigning innocence, she dropped a bomb on everyone present.

“As long as I take responsibility, isn’t that enough?”

“Lady Clarisa!”

“My lady!”

Ugh. Just go away.

Ignoring those who tried to stop her, Clarisa boldly entered Aryan’s room.

The floorboards creaked. For a room so large, the furniture was cheap and mismatched, the wallpaper and curtains hopelessly outdated. A blue tapestry—no one could say when it had last been cleaned—hung limp, spiderwebs still clinging to it.

The air slipping in through the narrow window felt suffocating.

But that wasn’t what truly set Clarisa on edge.

This room—

“Is it just me, Marie, or is there not even the sound of water… or breathing?”

“…I don’t hear anything either.”

“Right?”

Clarisa’s eyes darted quickly.

She headed toward the bathroom, just as “Servant One” had claimed. Then, without hesitation, she kicked the door open.

“D-Don’t!”

Do.

Ignoring someone’s scream with ease, she scanned the white marble bathtub.

As expected, no one was there.

Without blinking, Clarisa turned around.

She deliberately paced across the room before heading to the dressing area. Silent gazes clung to her every step.

“Then here?”

“Lady Clarisa!”

Using Bellisa’s sharp shout as background noise, Clarisa checked every corner, every gap.

But despite her efforts, Aryan was nowhere to be found.

Frowning, Clarisa sneered at those who had spoken carelessly.

“So Aryan’s learned how to turn invisible now?”

“Th-That is…”

“Servant Two” faltered. His uneasy gaze slid toward Bellisa’s cheek. The others were no different.

The meaning of those looks was impossible to miss.

“Madam.”

Clarisa turned toward the only person who might know where Aryan was.

“…Aryan stepped out briefly.”

“Stepped out?”

Clarisa’s brow creased.

Her crooked smile and sharp eyes made her discomfort unmistakable.

She didn’t bother hiding it as she asked again.

“Isn’t that different from what you said earlier?”

“Aryan—” Bellisa replied, wearing a gentle smile tinged with difficulty.

It was the face of a kind, warm mother—so convincing that, had Clarisa not known her better, she might have been fooled.

“He occasionally enjoys sneaking out and shaking off the servants.”

Ha.

A laugh, sharp with irritation, burst from Clarisa’s lips.

It might have sounded plausible for a boy Aryan’s age.

But everyone present—including Clarisa—knew that Aryan wasn’t the type to pull such pranks.

To her ears, Bellisa’s excuse sounded like deliberate mockery.

Clarisa’s slender nails dug into her palm.

“My apologies for showing you something so embarrassing.”

This woman is unbelievable.

Of course, Clarisa didn’t laugh.

She only stared Bellisa down with a twisted expression.

“Is that so?”

She forced herself to nod as though accepting the explanation, suppressing her anger. Then she slowly walked toward the door, stopping to glance at Bellisa once more.

Gently curved eyes. Neatly lifted lips. Flushed cheeks.

The face that had been pleading in near outrage earlier was long gone.

He’s definitely here…

Ah.

At the edge of Clarisa’s wandering gaze, something box-like near the bed caught her eye.

Don’t tell me.

Tap.

As if drawn by something unseen, Clarisa moved toward it.

“My lady?”

Ignoring Bellisa’s anxious call, she stopped in front of an old box painted blue.

It was no bigger than the length of an adult man’s forearm—hardly large at all.

Bellisa’s eyes widened.

Clarisa swallowed hard and gently tapped the top of the box.

“Ah!”

Knock. Knock.

The sound was anything but light. Bellisa screamed as if in panic.

If only…

For the first time, Clarisa couldn’t find any pleasure in her scream.

I hope you’re not in there.

She closed her eyes tightly, then opened them.

There was no answer to her knock—and that hurt more than she expected.

The girl’s small, pale hand grasped the lid.

As it opened, light poured into the dark interior.

And there—

A small, hunched back.

Something hot surged up her throat.

Silver hair, once swallowed by darkness, lifted.

Transparent eyes, holding the pale sky and clear sea within them, shimmered as they met Clarisa’s gaze.

Clarisa knew his name.

But in that moment, instead of calling it, she spoke the one word he must have been longing to hear more than anything.

“…Found you.”